Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Nothing much new to post. We had the all-star tournament last weekend. Unfortunately, our team got smoked. Even more unfortunately, it wasn't a surprise. However, I did almost get tossed out of the game. We were down to our last batter, and losing 6-0. We had runners on 1st and 3rd. The other team had their closer in, and she was throwing harder than I can. Remember, these are eight year olds.

The pitcher threw a bullet inside, and my girl jumped back to get away. No such luck, she got absolutely drilled. The runner on first started trotting to second, and the batter starts trying to walk it off. Then the ump calls time, and sends the runner back to first. I go out there to find out what is going on, and he tells me she didn't make an effort to get out of the way.

I had a few issues earlier in the game with this ump's calls, but nothing major. This time, I blew a gasket. I was all over him. I won't go into great detail, but he just kept saying "She didn't make an effort to get out of the way" to everything I said. Which was bullshit, but he was sticking to his story.

Finally, one of the other coaches came out and told me to let it go. So I went back in the dugout, and was still steaming. The very next pitch, she cranked it down the left field line. A big puff of chalk went up when the ball hit the ground, and we avoided the shutout. Or so I thought.

I see the ump waving his hands, and yelling "Foul Ball!!" I was already upset, and this pushed me over the edge. I didn't cuss, and I didn't get physical, but for the first time in my life, I questioned an ump's integrity to his face. I was absolutely furious. At this point, I was trying to get tossed. I told him real loud so everyone in the crowd could hear, "Let me guess, the ball hit the line, but since the line didn't make an effort to get out of the way, it doesn't count." Everyone in the crowd started laughing, and our side of the crowd started cheering. This must have embarrassed him, because then he told me, "One more word, and I will toss you." Since I was trying to get the boot, I had to reply to that. I asked, "What, you are going to toss me because of your own incompetence?" He was gutless, and wouldn't toss me out. She ended up striking out on the next pitch.

On brighter news, I got a new tattoo on Monday. It turned out pretty good. It is Chinese characters, and I am not saying what it means. If I wanted everyone to know, I would have printed it in English.

Monday, June 13, 2005

OK, I am hoping someone out there in blogland can help me out. Here is the story.

My lady friend and I went to see Whiskey Bitch on Saturday night. By the way, they are playing their last show ever in Phoenix this weekend before they break up. If you like old fashioned ass kicking punk/metal, I would go check them out. Anyhow, at the bar, it was pretty crowded. I looked over, and noticed some guy was drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon.

I was drinking Bass, which is my normal beer of choice. Yes, I am a bit of a beer snob. Sue me. It wasn't always that way though. I was poor, and used to drink the poor man's beer. You know, Milwaukee's Best, and that sort of stuff. However, even when I was poor, or desparate, or both, nobody I knew would be caught dead with PBR. It was the old man, white trash, redneck beer.

I was chuckling to myself that someone was drinking it. Then, as I was looking around, I saw more people had it. And as the place filled up, more and more people were drinking it. I am guessing close to half the bar was drinking that crap. I was absolutely stunned.

Either one of two things happened. It was on sale for about a dime a can, or everyone is in on the joke but me. When did Pabst become popular? Am I missing something here? I was telling one of the guys I hang with about it, and he is telling me that white trash is in right now. Is this true?

Thursday, June 09, 2005

I don't worry about cold and flu season. I never get sick during that time. However, beautiful sunny weather, no sickness in sight, and I am in trouble. Somehow I managed to get the flu. Combine fluids coming out of both ends with a stuffed up head, and misery ensues. Then, for good measure, I managed to fuck up my back again. Puking with a bad back is definitely what Hell is all about.

After the debacle to see Troy's Bucket last week, my lady friend and I were going to go see Tucson's farewell performance of Whiskey Bitch this weekend. But I better get well quick for that to happen. I am hoping I turned the corner today.

Saturday, June 04, 2005

Last night had the makings of an epic night. I was going out to dinner with my lady friend, then we were going to head over to a club to catch Troy's Bucket, then to her place, and whatever happens, happens. I mentioned Troy's Bucket in an earlier post, and this was going to be my first chance to see them since then, and I was really looking forward to it.

We get to the restaurant, which is pretty close to the club. I saw a whole slew of police cars up the street, so there was obviously an accident. However, it was still a little ways before the show, so I didn't think too much of it. How wrong I was. We came out of the restaurant, and the road was still blocked off. She knew a back way to get to the club, so off we went.

The back way was blocked as well. So was the side way, the up way, and I am sure if there was an underground tunnel, it would have been blocked as well. I went to find a number for the club, to see what was going on. It turns out that there was an accident, and some guy crashed into a power line, and took out power to the area. The club was part of that area, and so there would be no show.

I was pretty bummed out by that, but we decided to try and make the best out of a bad situation. We decided to go to her place and fool around a bit. However, about two minutes after we get there, her son comes home. He was supposed to be at work all night, so this was a pleasant surprise. Of course, he decides he is just going to hang out there all night instead. Now I am starting to get pissed.

We decided to grab a Tucson Weekly to see if any other places had any good bands playing. Saturday, there were tons. Friday, pretty much just the show we wanted to go to. As an added bonus, there was a little article about one of the other local bands I really like, Whiskey Bitch, who is breaking up and playing their last show in Tucson next weekend.

Plan D involves renting a movie. We go to get one, and now we can't agree on anything. I want to get some goofy comedy, she wants a chick flick, and things are spiraling out of control. Finally, she recommends getting "Without A Paddle", which looks like a comedy, and I am tired of being there, so I agree to it.

She tells me there is no soda in the house. For the record, I am a Dr. Pepper fiend. This stuff is liquid crack to me. I can't get enough of it. So we hit the convinience store on the way home to get some. Can you believe that they were out of Dr. Pepper? I was speechless.

To cap off my wonderful evening, "Without a Paddle" sucked so much ass, I think there was bits of colon stuck in its teeth. We didn't even make it through the movie.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Add a couple of words, shift the order around a bit, and presto! A new blog name. As many times as life pisses on you, this kinda makes sense. Or not, I'm not sure. If I ever learn anything at all about HTML, hopefully this blog can be a little less generic.

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

I just realized, I promised a long time ago to tell the story of Umbrella. Keep in mind that it is pretty retarded, and I think it is a "you had to be there" moment.

Waaaaay back in the day, when I was a young and somewhat wild and rebellious lad, my ex-wife had a fairly important party she had to attend for work. All of the bigwigs from her work were there. I hate bigwigs. A bunch of dorks standing around thinking they are God's gift to women because they are rich, telling stupid jokes, and generally getting on my nerves. I tried like hell to get out of it, but trying to give all of the potential babysitters polio didn't work. Damn vaccines.

Plan B involved getting drunk to the gills to dull the pain. However, when I am drunk, I tend to get... well let's call it brutally honest. In other words, I would be asking her boss if he ever used that tooth of his that stuck out sideways as a can opener. She quickly informed me that my alcohol intake was going to be monitored closely. Great, so I was going to be bored and sober.

We went to this party, and it turned out I knew very few people there. I am generally pretty quiet when around people I don't know. Combine this with the fact that when I do talk, I am pretty blunt and crass, and I was told to be on my best behavior. A recipe for a miserable evening. I basically just leaned up against a wall and didn't say anything all night.

My ex was drinking, so pretty soon I was being scolded for not mingling enough. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. So I started hanging on the outside of conversations. I soon found out that I was the only one there who was probably legal to drive, which was pissing me off even more.

There was one small group of people talking that didn't look like they were total losers, so I wandered over and began listening in. Turns out, they were fairly drunk, and were talking about sex. More specifically, the wierdest stuff they had done. I think the question was what was the kinkiest thing you ever did. Now this was something I could probably get into.

Unfortunately, most of this stuff was lame. They were talking about doing it in a car, doing it in their parents bed, stuff like that. One girl mentioned that she once had sex in a closet. I must have been making faces that showed how weak I thought this was, because she looked at me and asked, "Don't you think having sex in a closet is kinky?" I answered, "I suppose it depends on whether or not you keep your umbrella in there." She got kind of flustered, and everyone else started laughing. From that point on, much to my ex's chagrin, I was always known as the umbrella guy to all of her work.

So no groundbreaking stuff, like I invented the self-drying umbrella, or anything like that. And in the early days where most people used screen names like BobR123, Umbrella was a little different. So that has been my internet identity ever since.

What It's About

This blog is crudely written by a middle aged, divorced father of two. If you want happy feel-good stories, there are a million blogs with those. This isn't one of them. IF YOU KNOW ME PERSONALLY, AND/OR YOU DON'T WANT TO GET OFFENDED/ANNOYED/DISGUSTED, YOU PROBABLY SHOULDN'T READ MY BLOG!!